Famous For Something I Can't Even Remember
by jamc91
Summary: AU. When the Dursleys find out about Harry's 'substance abuse issues', Harry gets kicked out. Follow his exciting, ponderous, slightly interesting adventures as he tries to survive on the street as an orphaned undiscovered wizard prodigy with a prophecy.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. This disclaimer belongs to whoever wrote the disclaimer for all the stories at FictionAlley dot Org. I don't even own this disclaimer, isn't that pathetic?**

Prologue

'Get the post, Dudley.'

'Make Harry get it.'

'Get the post, Harry.'

'Make Dudley get it.'

'Poke him with your Smeltings stick, Dudley.'

'Oh, I'll get it,' Aunt Petunia said in exasperation, and got up.

Uncle Vernon glared at Harry. Harry looked at his plate and didn't say anything. Dudley poked him with his Smeltings stick anyway. Harry winced.

Aunt Petunia came in a minute later, looking slightly shaken.

'What's wrong, Petunia?'

Aunt Petunia shook her head, glancing at Harry. Uncle Vernon frowned but didn't push further.

Aunt Petunia handed the post to Vernon, who looked through it.

'Bill,' he muttered, placing it on the table for later. 'Ah, a postcard from Marge,' he said, turning it over and reading it. 'Marge's ill,' he informed Aunt Petunia. 'Ate a funny whelk…'

Harry got up and cleared everyone's plates, placing them in the dishwasher.

W00T

That afternoon, after Harry and Dudley had gone to school and Vernon was at home on lunch break, Aunt Petunia went back to the hallway and took the letter from where she had hidden it in the drawer.

'Vernon,' she said quietly when she re-entered the living room, where her husband was watching the television. 'This came in the post this morning.' She handed the letter to her husband. It had an address written on in green ink:

_Mr H. Potter  
The Cupboard under the Stairs  
4 Privet Drive  
Little Whinging  
Surrey_

Vernon immediately paled upon seeing it.

'How could they know where he sleeps?' Petunia whispered. 'You don't think they're watching the house – '

'Watching – spying – might be following us,' Vernon muttered.

'But what should we do, Vernon? Should we write back? Tell them we don't want…'

'No,' said Vernon. 'No, we won't do anything. If they don't get an answer…yes, that's best…if we don't do anything…'

'But…'

'I'm not having one in the house, Petunia! Didn't we swear when we took him in we'd stamp out that dangerous nonsense?' Vernon snapped, throwing the letter into the fire.

W00T

That night, Uncle Vernon told Harry he'd be moving to Dudley's second bedroom.

'Why?'

'Don't ask questions,' his uncle snapped. 'Just do it!'

It only took Harry one trip to move all his belongings from the tiny cupboard to his new room. Downstairs, he could hear Dudley crying and throwing a huge tantrum over losing his bedroom: 'But I _need_ that room…make him get out…'

W00T

The next morning, when Harry arrived downstairs for breakfast, Dudley was in shock. He'd cried, wailed, whacked his father with his Smeltings stick, been sick on purpose, kicked his mother, thrown his pet turtle out through the greenhouse roof, and he still didn't have his room back.

They all heard the sound of the flap in the door closing, signalling the arrival of the post.

'I'll get it,' Uncle Vernon said quickly, getting up.

He came back in a minute later with a funny look on his face.

W00T

That afternoon, when Harry and Dudley were at school and he was on lunch break, Vernon showed a letter to his wife. 'Another one,' he muttered. Petunia's eyes widened at the address:

_Mr H. Potter  
The Smallest Bedroom  
4 Privet Drive  
Little Whinging  
Surrey_

'We have to write back, Vernon.'

'How? It doesn't have a return address!'

'I saw…an _owl_…delivering it this morning,' Petunia whispered. 'It's perched on the roof. Perhaps we could persuade it to take a letter back.'

'All right,' Vernon grumbled. 'I'll write a reply.'

W00T

The next morning, Harry arrived downstairs for breakfast as the flap in the front door closed with a snap, signalling the arrival of that day's post.

'I'll get it,' Aunt Petunia said quickly, getting up. 'You, sit down,' she ordered Harry, pushing him back inside the dining-room.

Harry thought this rather odd.

Aunt Petunia came back inside a minute later, looking very pleased about something.


	2. Chapter One: The MI5

_For disclaimer, see prologue. Warning: minor drug references.  
_

Chapter One: The MI5

(A/N: There is a really, really big jump in time from the prologue to this chapter. Just so you know. Don't say I didn't warn you.

The first bit of this chapter sounds weird. I don't really like it that much. Then again, I don't know how to fix it, so if anyone could give me any _polite suggestions_, I would be very grateful. Thank you.)

**This chapter is dedicated to elemental-girl, Elfish Etyma, Viskii, and ERMonkey Burner of Cookies for giving me a nice surprise waiting for me in my inbox the very first day after I posted the prologue. I honestly wasn't really expecting to find any reviews. After all, I do suck at writing summaries. And prologues too, according to japanese-jew.**

W00T

'Spare some change?'

'No,' the man in the neatly pressed blue suit said shortly, walking past.

The beggar sighed.

'Spare some change?' he repeated hopefully to another.

The woman in the grey skirt and white blouse just walked away without even glancing at him.

The beggar sighed. He held up his collecting tin to someone else, pleading silently. The woman glanced at him briefly then looked away. The little girl holding her hand, though, stared at him sadly and dug some change out of her pocket, depositing it in the can.

The beggar smiled at her in true gratitude. 'Thank you,' he whispered.

Her mother, who had heard the soft _clink_ of coins on tin, looked back, and with an expression of horror on her face, pulled her daughter back as far away as they could get. As they quickly walked away, the beggar heard her scolding the girl – 'Don't you remember me telling you, Ella, the people on the street are dirty! Don't even go near them.'

The beggar watched them hurry away, and sighed again. He seemed to be doing a lot of sighing these days.

He couldn't forget the _reason_ why he was sighing so much. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the cold wall behind him, remembering.

W00T

'_But where will I go?' he asked desperately._

_His aunt pursed her lips, and he remembered the 'no-questions' rule._

'_Find a job,' his uncle snapped. 'Get an apartment. Just stay away from us.'_

'_Why are you kicking me out?' he protested. He'd known his relatives hated him, but he didn't know how much. After all, they never abused him or anything, not really, so surely they couldn't loathe him that much…right?_

'_We're giving you a chance to be independent,' his aunt snapped._

'_It's an opportunity, boy, you can't rely on us for the rest of your life. You've already burdened us for the past seventeen years, day by miserable day.'_

'_But you're keeping Dudley!'_

_Harry's aunt and uncle scowled fiercely. 'Dudley's different! He's our son, and he is better than you will ever be! He needs a good university education!'_

_Harry bit back the urge to say something nasty._

'_And besides which,' Uncle Vernon continued with malice, 'the other day I discovered cigarettes and _drugs _in your room. Don't think for one second we'll offer our generous hospitality any longer to people like you, boy!'_

_Harry had been moved back into Dudley's second bedroom when it was discovered, at age thirteen, that he just wouldn't fit into the cupboard anymore. Normally the Dursleys wouldn't have cared, but Aunt Petunia, in a rare moment of 'Harry-kindness', had persuaded Vernon to give Harry the bedroom. Naturally, Dudley had put up quite a fuss, but a few new games for his PlayStation quickly solved that._

'_I don't smoke, and I don't do drugs!' Harry cried. 'I don't have substance-abuse issues!' He knew Dudley had hidden his stash of cigarettes and drugs in Harry's bedroom so that he could access them freely and yet not be blamed should his parents ever find out. He didn't say this, though, because he knew his aunt and uncle would never believe him._

'_The proof of them in your room is proof enough for us, boy,' Uncle Vernon spat._

'_I don't even have the money to buy any!'_

_His uncle's face was rapidly turning red. 'Don't lie to us, boy! We know you're guilty! You must have stolen them! Now get your things, you good-for-nothing drug addict, and get out of our home!'_

W00T_  
_

_Wouldn't it be embarrassing if one of them walked down the street right now?_ Harry mused.

He opened his eyes and looked into his tin. Or at least, where his tin was supposed to be. Someone had stolen it. He resisted the urge to scream and instead tried to calm his anger.

He tried, but it wasn't going so well. The more he thought about it, the angrier he got. As his anger increased at a rather alarming rate, a garbage can on the street corner suddenly exploded. People screamed and scurried away from it. Harry stared at the can, his anger dissipating in favour of his curiosity at the sudden explosion, and wondered what could have caused it to explode. There was no reason for someone to blow up a garbage can, right? That was rather odd. Besides, who would waste perfectly good explosives on a mere garbage can?

The MI5, as Harry called them, who were really the local street cleaners, quickly arrived at the scene, and in a matter of minutes, cleared away the mess, and left. Harry called them the MI5 because, although they were just street cleaners, they worked with the rapidity and efficiency of a specially trained military force.

It was odd, but Harry wanted to be like them someday. Of course, he would take whatever job he could get, but he wanted to be as quick and efficient at anything as the MI5 was…both the real MI5 and 'his' MI5.

Harry sighed again, and swore to himself not to get caught up in his fantasies again. Imagining situations that might have been, or even reflecting on the past, were not going to help him now. If only he could get a job, but…

Before he started flashbacking again, Harry made a mental note to himself to get a new collecting tin. It would take him a while, though; good collecting tins were surprisingly hard to find.

W00T

'_The company's downsizing,' his boss said abruptly. 'You're fired.'_

_Harry gaped at him in disbelief. 'What? But I'm the best worker in the department!'_

_His ex-boss sighed and leaned back in his chair. 'I know, Harry, and I thank you for all the hard work you've put into your job. However, we've decided that we don't need your department anymore. The company can't afford to keep a department no one needs. We're letting go of all the people from your department, and that includes you.'_

_Harry sighed._

'_I'm sorry, Harry, if that gives any consolation. I would give you another job in the company if I could, but we don't have any job openings right now.'_

'_It's okay,' Harry muttered. 'I understand.' And he did, really, but that didn't mean it was fair._

W00T_  
_

**A year and a half later…**

W00T

'_You're fired,' said his boss bluntly._

This is the third time someone's said that to me without giving me a reason first,_ Harry thought to himself. 'Why?'_

'_Ever since you've been on board, we've been receiving reports of office supplies, desks, _refrigerators_ even, suddenly exploding for no particular reason. We've had people coming in and saying you've been getting into arguments and fights with other employees.'_

Tattletales,_ Harry thought bitterly. 'What makes you think the things exploding have anything to do with _me_?'_

'_Well, we know it can't be magic, right?' said his boss, making a feeble attempt at a joke and grinning weakly. 'We do know, however, that you were there every time something blew up. I'm not saying it's directly your fault, but this never happened before you came in.'_

'_What about the fights? I never got into any fights!'_

'_That's not what my security cameras say.'_

'_I got into _arguments_ with other people, not physical fights!'_

'_Like I said, that's not what my cameras tell me. The people who've been complaining don't tell me that, either.'_

'_I'm telling you, it wasn't me!'_

'_It looked like you, acted like you, and smelled like you, though don't ask me how they knew that. It had to be you.'_

_Harry knew there was no use arguing. He knew it hadn't been him all those times, but he could come up with no plausible explanation for it not having been him, other than, perhaps, there was some unknown magical world out there and someone was using some kind of magic to impersonate him and get him into trouble. The idea was, however, completely ridiculous._

_Harry sighed and conceded defeat. 'I'll go get my things.'_

_His ex-boss turned around in his chair to face the window._

_Harry couldn't resist slamming the door behind him. He was, after all, fired anyway._

W00T_  
_

Finished with his flashbacks, which were making him kind of depressed anyway, Harry looked down at the place where his tin used to be again. Or rather, where it was. Harry blinked and rubbed his eyes. It was still there, with all the money inside too.

That was rather odd. Either the thief had returned it, or someone had randomly placed a tin – that looked exactly like the one he'd had – with money in it in front of him.

Both possibilities were just that; possibilities. Both were extremely unlikely.

Maybe he'd stolen it back using _magic_. Harry inwardly rolled his eyes at that.

In any case, he figured he'd better not lose it again. He picked up his tin and, hugging it securely to his chest, hurried away into a back alley where he slept in a box he'd found on a lucky day.

One street over, a perfectly respectable-looking citizen looked down at his hand in confusion. One minute it had been there, and the next minute it had been gone. How very…odd.

W00T

(A/N: So you've read it, please review;  
I wish I could come up with a good rhyme,  
But with this poem's debut  
At this point in time  
I really can't.

In case you've noticed  
That this little rant  
(Dude, nothing that makes sense rhymes with 'noticed')  
Does actually rhyme,  
I said 'good rhyme'.

You wouldn't call this a 'good rhyme', would you?   
Now please read and review.

P.S. QuickEdit sucks.

Update Feb. 25, 2006: I just realised that it says up there, 'Harry had been moved into Dudley's second bedroom when it was discovered…'

So I corrected it, because in the prologue, Harry was already moved to Dudley's second bedroom. It now says 'moved back into…' To make that clearer, Harry was moved back to his cupboard a few weeks after he didn't get his letter.)


	3. Chapter Two: A Bit Chilly

_For disclaimer, see prologue._

Chapter Two: A Bit Chilly

(A/N: I don't like the first bit of this chapter either. I seem to have some difficulty in beginning chapters. (sigh))

**Dedicated to…hmm. Well, the plot bunny who, for inexplicable reasons, decided to latch on to me, I guess. Thank you, plot bunny. Thank you. :)**

W00T

Harry woke up abruptly, sweating and shaking slightly from the nightmare he had just had.

He remembered a group dressed in dark clothes killing people. He remembered the group laughing. He remembered the victims screaming. He remembered a high, cold laugh of approval or amusement, or possibly both. He remembered…

He remembered green light. There had been quite a lot of green light.

He'd been having a lot of dreams involving these people – he could tell they were the same people after a while; he remembered their mannerisms, their dark clothing, their laughter, and occasionally he'd catch a name – for the past few…well. Harry couldn't exactly remember when they had begun, but he knew they had been plaguing his sleep for quite a long time.

Why did his brain keep inventing these nightmares for him? He'd never seen these people before. Perhaps he had a secret fetish involving killing people gruesomely, slowly, and painfully. Harry winced at that.

'Oh, don't be silly, Harry,' said the logical part of his mind. 'Every time you wake up from one of those nightmares you're always at least slightly ill. You can't possibly have a fetish for murdering people. You'd have killed the Dursleys a long time ago, if that were so.'

As most people do, however, Harry ignored the logical part of his mind, even though it made quite a lot of sense – which it should have. If it hadn't, he would have been a bit worried.

And about reoccurring dreams…Harry remembered another dream. It wasn't quite as bad as the ones about killing people, but it had the same green light and the same high, cold laugh – except that one was of triumph – as in his other dreams.

Well, it was no use to dwell on dreams and forget to live. Harry shivered and looked around nervously. Was there a chill in here?

Hang on, it was winter. Harry rolled his eyes at himself and noticed that the sky was pitch black, without a single star in sight.

It was still the middle of the night, then. Even though he'd turned in early the night before, Harry decided to sleep for a couple more hours and then get up. The dreams only came once a night, if at all, so he had no worries.

W00T

**Four hours later…**

W00T

Harry yawned and stretched. That had been one of the best nights' sleeps he'd had in…well, quite a long time, actually. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, and decided to get to work (if you could call it that).

He looked around for his tin. Finding it in a corner of his box, he dumped the coins out (no bills last night, unfortunately), and started counting.

Two pounds and forty-seven pence. Harry sighed. Yesterday hadn't been a very good day.

Maybe he could make up for it today, then. Sighing again, Harry stashed the money into his pocket and picked up his tin.

Walking to his usual spot, Harry found it…occupied?

His eyes narrowed. Who was this intruder trespassing on his territory? Every beggar in the area _knew_ that _that spot_ was Harry Potter's and Harry Potter's alone, and that they were never to touch it, because he could get nasty if he wanted to. Harry never knew how, but somehow, fighting was very easy for him. It was as if everything slowed down to a third of its actual speed. Sometimes he got bored, even, waiting for a punch to come close before dodging it (for effect, of course).

Of course, it might have been the practice of dodging Dudley and his (literally) stupid gang. They'd been able to catch him less and less times in one day as he grew older, and they eventually gave up, for which Harry was grateful.

Harry stalked over angrily to the trespasser. 'Excuse me,' he demanded, 'but who are you and what are you doing on my territory?'

The anonymous man didn't even look up. He was dressed in rags and tatters just like Harry's, which confirmed that he was a beggar, just like Harry. Oddly enough, his clothes looked slightly burnt around the edges.

Harry tapped a foot impatiently. 'I asked who you were. Answer me.'

The man didn't move.

Harry muttered something very colourful and very rude about the intruder before him and decided to reinforce his point. 'I _asked_,' he said, grabbing the man's shoulder, 'who you _were_. You could at least have the polite courtesy to look at me,' he snapped, yanking the man up to put him face-to-face with himself.

And he gasped, for the man's face was truly grotesque. His eyes were nothing more than sockets; nose blackened and burnt to a crisp; face wrinkled and moldy; hair nothing more than a few strands on his scalp. He quickly let go, and the corpse fell to the ground like a rag doll. An extremely cheap, bargain-bin rag doll. Harry shuddered and hurriedly stepped away from the dead body.

He decided to keep away from this spot for a while. The MI5 would come later and get the body out of here anyway, and he could have his space back. Walking back a few more steps, Harry turned to run – er, walk away quickly, because he was in a hurry, of course.

Until he saw the corpse twitch.

Harry froze in his tracks, debating whether to run or not. On the one hand, running would be an extremely un-brave thing to do. And Harry was, by all means, not an un-brave person at all. On the other hand, running would the extremely smart thing to do. And Harry was, by all means, not a stupid person either.

The corpse twitched again.

Harry stood absolutely still, continuing to argue with himself.

The dead body emitted a groan and started to get up, joints creaking, ever so slowly.

Harry ran like a madman.

W00T

_This is so surreal,_ Harry thought to himself as he ran for his life. _I'm being chased by a zombie. I thought this sort of thing only happened on TV!_

Because indeed, he was being chased by a zombie. A re-animated corpse, so to speak. Either way, it was pretty much the same thing.

It was a surprisingly quick zombie. Harry had always thought zombies were sluggish and slow and generally easy to escape from. But nooo, Harry had to get a lightning-quick one.

And because it was so early in the morning…or so late at night, either one…there were very, very few people around. In this district, there were surprisingly few police officers around, which Harry used to be thankful for, since they wouldn't kick him out of his begging spot, but now he was very resentful of this fact, because at this current point in time he was being _chased by a zombie_. He could really use some help here, please!

Even of those very, very few people around, they were either too sleepy to notice, too busy to notice, or too selfish and/or idiotic to assist. Of the people who did notice, they just screamed or gasped and pointed, which wasn't really all that helpful.

'Halt! State your name and business!'

A police officer? How oddly convenient. Of course, Harry had no idea how long he'd been running, so for all he knew he could have run into the next county.

'Look behind me, you – (Harry called the officer something that, had he stopped, would probably have got him arrested)!'

The officer glared at Harry, but looked at what was behind him anyway. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped almost comically, and if Harry hadn't been so preoccupied with his current situation, he might have laughed.

'Stop! Stop, you monster!' the officer yelled, drawing his pistol and shooting at it.

'Watch it, you idiot, you nearly got me!' Harry yelled, ducking. He ran until he was far behind the officer and turned around to watch, panting and out of breath.

What he saw was the officer rapidly running out of ammunition and the zombie still chasing him. Harry choked on his own saliva and quickly turned around, getting ready to run.

He promptly tripped on the absolutely flat pavement and went flying.

Or, he _would_ have gone flying if it hadn't been for a pair of hands grabbing his shoulders and pulling him upright.

Harry turned around, about to say a quick 'thanks' and start running (and to tell the guy to let go), and found that the person in question was the zombie.

Harry opened his mouth, found nothing to say, and closed it.

The zombie groaned.

Harry opened his mouth again. 'Er, excuse me, Mr…uh…Zombie?'

The zombie groaned in response.

'Erm, I'm sort of in a hurry here, and I would really like to, er, make it on time, for that…that thing I have to go to right now, and I would really appreciate it if you, er, sort of, let go of my shoulders so I can run for it.'

The zombie groaned in response.

Harry flipped it over his shoulder and slammed it onto the ground (a little trick he'd learned from sneaking into Dudley's room while he was out and stealing one or two of his, believe it or not, _books_ on martial arts).

The zombie groaned.

Harry stood there, gaping at the success of his maneuver. After all, he'd only ever tried it once, and it had only sort of half-worked.

He soon snapped out of it though, when the body twitched again.

Harry ran like a madman.

W00T

_Well, that was certainly a change from my everyday routine,_ Harry thought to himself dryly, sitting outside a convenience store in another district.

He looked around nervously again for the zombie and relaxed when he saw nothing out of the ordinary. He sighed and leaned back against the glass of the window behind him and was just about to take a nap (he'd had a very tiring day, even though it was only just past noon) when –

'Hey! Get off the window!'

Harry jerked awake and glanced around. A convenience store worker was standing on the steps, glaring at him. 'Don't lean on the window, kid. We don't want your filth dirtying our clean glass,' he added under his breath.

Harry glared at him. The worker glared back. Harry glared again and got up, walking away. He'd find someplace where people appreciated him.

…Well, actually…

Harry sighed again. This train of thought was rather depressing.

'Hello.'

Harry jumped and turned around. There was someone standing behind him, dressed in what seemed vaguely like a long black cloak, with the hood up, so Harry couldn't see his face.

He stared warily at the man (at least he guessed it was a man, because of the voice). 'Hello.'

There was a pause.

'…What?' Harry added, seeing no introduction forthcoming.

There was another pause, then the man said, 'It's a nice day, isn't it?'

'…Yes, I suppose it is,' Harry agreed, after some thought. 'Although it's a bit too chilly for my tastes.'

'Well, I've got a nice warm…cloak,' said the man. 'I probably couldn't feel the cold if a blizzard came through,' he said, chuckling a little.

Harry smiled weakly.

'What are you doing in these parts, Harry?'

Harry's eyes widened involuntarily, not hearing the question but instead only able to focus on one thing the man had said – 'How did you know my name?' he demanded.

The man muttered something; Harry could make out something like 'always a griffin-y door, you were…straight to the point…bit rudely though…just like…' and then he couldn't hear the rest.

Harry felt the need to point out that no one used door knockers anymore (since that must have been what the man had meant by 'griffin-y door'), and said so. He also felt the need to point out that 'griffin-y door' made absolutely no sense used in that context, but chose not to say anything on that matter, guessing that the man might be slightly mad (and mad people were always unpredictable; Harry didn't want to take any chances).

The man paused, seeming not to know what to say. Finally, after another long pause, he said, 'You didn't answer my question.'

'Pants to your _question_,' Harry replied, irritated. 'You didn't answer mine either.'

'Yes, but I asked it first.'

'That has no bearing on the current situation.'

'…Sorry, what?'

Figuring that the man was slightly slow as well as slightly mad, and feeling a bit of pity for him, Harry simplified his retort. 'That has nothing to do with what I said.'

'Yes, it does. See, I asked you a question, and then you asked me one. Then I asked why you didn't answer my question, and you said I didn't answer yours either. And then I said that I asked my question first. See, it all makes sense.'

Harry stared for a moment, and started to slowly back away.

'I'm not insane,' said the man in an annoyed tone of voice.

Harry blinked and stopped, and sighed. 'Well, since you're the one who started it, you could tell me your name.'

There was another pause, luckily shorter this time. Harry wasn't a patient person. 'My name is Peter,' the man said at last.

'Thank you. It's nice to meet you, Peter,' Harry replied, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. 'If you'll excuse me, then, I have – '

'I say, what's that?' Peter said suddenly, pointing behind him.

Harry sighed and turned around –

W00T

(A/N: It's never too early to leave a cliffie  
That's what I say.  
After all, the key  
To the way  
To a good cliffhanger  
Is not where you have it;  
It's how you write it.

Although you probably know what's going to happen anyway.

Oh yes, and please review.)


	4. Chapter Three: What a Wonderful World

_For disclaimer, see prologue. Warnings: minor drug and sexual references, lame humour._

Chapter Three: What a Wonderful World

Last time…

'_I say, what's that?' Peter said suddenly, pointing behind him._

_Harry sighed and turned around – _

W00T

– and gaped.

For there, you see, was the human-like inhuman thing that had been chasing him around all day.

_And just when I thought I'd got away too,_ Harry thought bitterly.

Harry turned back around to face Peter. 'I have to go,' he said, and ran.

'Wait! You never answered my questions!' he heard Peter call after him, but he didn't stop. He knew that the zombie would have picked up the pace by now, and would be following him closely, closely enough that Harry would be unable to find a good hiding place, much less go and _hide_ in one.

_And I say to myself…what a wonderful world…_ Harry hummed to himself as he sprinted.

He glanced behind him and saw…was it slowing down? Harry frowned, turning his head to look forward, and just barely managed to stop himself from slamming his face into a pole.

His foot wasn't so lucky, though. It somehow got caught around the pole and he promptly fell over face first. Painfully.

Groaning and in pain, Harry painfully tried to get up, being painfully reminded of the pain he was currently in by his painful attempt at getting up. He rolled over onto his back in a painful manner and painfully sat up, looking around for the zombie, who was most unfortunately probably not in pain.

He frowned again. That was odd. He couldn't seem to find it. Painfully aware that the zombie could very well be behind him (again), he turned his head painfully to look behind him, fully expecting to have to get up and run.

He blinked.

And quickly got up, ignoring the pain that accompanied this action. The zombie wasn't anywhere around. It had to be, right? He'd seen it just a few seconds ago before he'd tripped over that pole (_It sounds really stupid when I put it like that,_ Harry pondered, deciding never to mention it again).

Harry scanned the general vicinity for anything that looked vaguely dead or zombie-like and occasionally turned around to look behind him to check there and in various alleys and suspicious-looking dark places.

Poking his head into a random dark alley, Harry found a gang of teenagers doing crack, marijuana, and various other illegal drugs.

One of them sneered at him. 'What're you doing, beggar? You ain't got money to buy any of this.'

'Have you seen a dead guy around here, by any chance?' Harry asked, ignoring the question and the fact that they were obviously skiving off school.

The one who had spoken stared at him.

'Okay, thanks,' Harry said, dashing off to look in more alleys and other dark, suspicious-looking places.

W00T

'Oh, great,' Harry muttered. (What he really said was actually something slightly more colourful than that, but it shall not be repeated here.)

'Grarrh,' said the zombie.

Harry didn't have any strength to run anymore. He'd been running for ages, and it had done him no good – the zombie was still resolutely following him. He had to give it credit for persistence, though.

He slumped against a wall and stared listlessly up at the zombie staring down at him.

'What do you _want_ with me, exactly?' he asked. It was really sort of pointless, as the zombie probably couldn't understand him, but it had worked as a diversion tactic before, and he might be able to get away again. 'You can't want money or food, because obviously I haven't got any. I'm not particularly good-looking, as vexing as it is to know this, so you can't want sex, and I'm not into necrophilia. I'm pretty sure I'm not gay, either, assuming you are…were…a man. Did someone send you here or something? Am I secretly part of a government plot planning to take over the world and restore the British Empire? Oh yes, nice going, Tony,' he muttered under his breath. /1/

The zombie stood there, staring at him. 'Grarrh,' it said. Harry seemed to detect some confusion and a tiny bit of disappointment and shock from it. He was probably just imagining things, though.

There was silence, broken by the occasional 'Grarrh' from the zombie.

'Aren't you going to try and kill me or capture me or something?' Harry asked, finally.

The zombie would have blinked if it had had eyelids.

Harry, still slumped against the wall, stared up at the zombie.

'Okay, look,' said Harry, just to fill the silence. 'I'm going to get up, and you're not going to kill me, okay? Okay.'

He got up. The zombie didn't kill him.

'Thanks,' said Harry, starting to edge away.

The zombie followed him.

Harry stopped.

The zombie stopped.

Harry sighed.

'Look, mate. We've been through tough times together for quite a few hours now. Almost forty-eight hours, even. And you've been following me for all those tough times. Ten out of ten for perseverance, really, but I mean, well, it's getting kind of irritating. Not that there's nothing wrong with irritating,' Harry added quickly, in case the zombie got insulted and killed him or something. 'After all, I am pretty irritating myself…hang on.

'Well, all I'm saying,' Harry continued, after a brief pause to consider the stupidity of what he had just said, 'that you don't _have_ to keep following me, you know. I mean, this is Britain, the land of…land of…the British! Certainly not the land of the free, no, that's what America calls themselves, but all us Brits know that we're better than those Yanks, eh?' Harry tried to grin.

'Grarrh,' said the zombie.

Harry sighed a deep sigh.

'All right, then. Follow me if you want to. It's not going to do you any good, you know.'

With that, Harry turned around and started walking. The zombie followed.

W00T

**Quite some time later…**

W00T

Harry was really, really hungry.

He glanced at the zombie, who was walking beside him after Harry had told it to because 'you're really creeping me out you know, following me like that.'

He looked back where he was walking and stopped. The zombie stopped. Harry looked around, analysing the scene, and concluding that there was absolutely nothing interesting or even vaguely restaurant- or grocery store-like. Harry sighed deeply.

'I don't suppose you would know where we can get some food, would you?' Harry said, just for the sake of saying something, since he knew the zombie couldn't reply.

'Grarrh,' said the zombie.

Other than that, of course.

Harry yawned and looked up at the sky. It was getting dark. Must be around five or six o'clock, then. He really needed something to eat, but he didn't have the money to buy anything…

Perhaps he would go to sleep and try to ignore the growling of his stomach. Harry sighed. Now that he knew the zombie was pretty much harmless, he really wished he'd brought his collecting tin. In his panic to get away, he'd left it behind, and he just couldn't bring himself to walk all the way back to get it, if it was even there anymore.

Harry shuffled gloomily to the nearest alley. It was empty, except for a few wooden crates stacked up against the very far wall. It didn't look too bad. Harry decided that that was where they'd stay for the night.

_Well, they say the floor is good for your back,_ he thought as he lay down on the ground near the wall. _If that's true, then I have the best backbone of everyone in England._ He snickered slightly at this double entendre and yawned again, closing his eyes.

His stomach growled loudly. Harry blushed out of habit.

W00T

_Look, stomach, why don't you just shut up and let me get some sleep?_ Harry thought to his…er…stomach, irritated. That was his second thought. His first thought was merely _ugh_, which, while not exactly eloquent, was quite a good way of summarising what he thought of his stomach at that time.

Because really, it was getting extremely annoying. Reverse psychology wasn't working, either; Harry had already tried that. Nor did taunting, teasing, mocking, or general threatening have any conceivable positive effect on the frequent rumblings of his stomach.

_You know, I really wish I were famous,_ Harry thought idly. _Famous people are usually rich. And rich people don't have to scrounge for food, or starve, or poke around in garbage cans, or sleep in dirty alleys._

_Heck, I'd even settle for being normal. Normal people don't do that either. They have normal homes, and normal cars, and normal beds, and normal decorations…_

_Wait, no, that's the Dursleys._ Harry made a face. _Urgh._

_I'd like to be famous, then. It would be pretty wicked, to be famous. Famous people get everything._

_And no, I'm not bitter!_ Harry immediately thought, to forestall the other voice in his head from saying anything.

Harry suddenly decided he definitely was not going to get any sleep while he was starving, so he got up and stretched. Yawning and clapping a hand over his mouth to make that weird 'hom-hom-hom' noise that was oddly amusing to him, he surveyed the alley he had been lying in.

It was a suspiciously…_clean_ alley. Not that there was no such thing as a clean alley, but it was just that clean alleys around here were very, very rare, even with the MI5 around. He supposed they didn't see the point in cleaning alleys.

There was no mud or anything like that on the ground. It was pretty much spotless. It looked exactly the same as all the pavements outside the alley.

This was officially creepy.

Harry's eyes darted around suspiciously. He turned around to face the entryway to the alley and his eyes widened in shock.

W00T

/1/ Blair.

(A/N: Lame humour is just the thing for me.  
I can't seem to stop putting it in my story.  
Which really sucks  
Because when I'm trying to write  
Something serious on-site  
My mind will inevitably go,  
'Go on, dancing crockery!  
Make a funny mockery  
Of Walt Disney's  
Cats Siamese  
And other various Disney productions.'

Not one of my better poems, I must admit. Hee. Although I wrote that in all of thirty seconds _without_ using RhymeZone dot Com, which is quite an achievement for me. Let's all congratulate my poetry skills in a review!

Or if you don't want to do that, I'll give you an outline of what you can write in a review:

Did you like this chapter?  
Did you like the lame humour?  
Is there anything you would like to see?  
Is there anything you think I could improve on?  
Overall, do you like this story?

See, I'm so helpful. Please review! (smiles innocently with wide eyes, compelling you to click the little blue/purple button))


	5. Chapter Four: Crazy Kid

_For disclaimer, see prologue. Warnings: lame humour, as usual, and stupid people._

Chapter Four: Crazy Kid

Last time…

_Harry's eyes darted around suspiciously. He turned around to face the entryway to the alley and his eyes widened in shock._

W00T

There were a dozen men in navy blue robes standing just outside the entryway, pointing wooden sticks at him. Harry's hands immediately went up in the universal 'I surrender' gesture. After all, he had no idea what those wooden sticks could do.

'Put your hands up!' one of them called.

'They are up, you idiot,' someone else hissed.

'Oh.' The first voice coughed. 'Er…you have the right to remain silent!'

'This isn't some bad Muggle television drama, Struthers! Shut up and let the real Aurors do the talking!'

'I'm an Auror just as much as you are, White!'

Harry was understandably quite confused by all this. First of all, what were 'Muggles' and 'Aurors'? Secondly, who dressed in robes anymore? And finally, if they were part of the law enforcement, as they seemed to be, why were they acting so unprofessionally?

The Auror, White, who had told Struthers to shut up, glared at Struthers, then Harry. White blinked when his eyes landed on Harry, conveying some emotion that Harry couldn't quite figure out, but shook his head and resumed his glaring. Harry only blinked back in confusion at him, which was apparently not the reaction White had been looking for, because he only glared even more fiercely.

'State your name and occupation,' he commanded.

'Harry Potter, unemployed,' he responded quickly. Even if it was a bit embarrassing to admit he was unemployed, they sounded (sort of) like the police, except with robes. And Harry didn't really want to mess with policemen.

White's eyes widened, and he seemed a bit taken aback. He quickly regained his composure, however, as his colleagues starting muttering amongst themselves.

'Don't lie to us. Do you think we are that easy to fool? We – ' he seemed to think better of this, and quickly amended it to '– I am a fully qualified, top Auror with prestigious honours in the Ministry, and using a famous name is not going to get you anywhere, especially when the name is one of a dead person.'

Harry gaped. 'But…I _am_ Harry Potter! I'm not famous though, and I think I would have realised by now if I were dead.'

White clapped a hand over his face. 'We've got a stupid one here, Faust. Take him out.'

One of the Auror's colleagues stepped forward, raising his little stick-thing. Saying something that Harry could not recognise (which really wasn't saying much as Harry only knew English and a tiny bit of basic French, which had been compulsory at Stonewall), a jet of red light shot out of the stick, seemingly in slow motion to Harry, who dodged it.

Registering the looks of surprise on the other Aurors' faces, he had to quickly start dodging and ducking under and jumping over various coloured jets of light (red, blue, blue, red, purple, red, yellow, blue…), yelling, 'Oi! Hey! Stop it! I haven't done anything!'

Harry sucked in his breath and almost fell over as he suddenly felt a sharp pain in his side. Placing his hand to the wound, he found that it came away with red. Ducking under another jet of light, he briefly glanced behind him and realised that he was getting closer and closer to the wall behind him. Harry knew he needed to do something. The Aurors were closing in quickly, and there seemed to be no way of escape.

Suppressing a wince of pain when several other bleeding cuts appeared on his arms, he felt behind him with a hand and felt brick. Starting to panic, he looked behind him to see if a magical exit had opened up or something (a ridiculous idea, Harry knew, but he was desperate) –

– there had. Harry blinked, figured, _Hey, it's an exit, I really can't complain,_ and darted into the…er, hole in the wall, for lack of a better term.

W00T

_I feel creeped out. I really, really do,_ was Harry's first thought when he came out from the…hole in the wall.

He stood there staring at the creepy store into which he had emerged for a moment, almost afraid to keep going. There were assorted creepy things sitting on creepy shelves in the creepy store, which included, but were not limited to, dusty human skulls, dusty animal skulls, dusty shrunken heads, a dusty human skeleton that looked extremely real, and something that looked like a dusty, rotten, mutant strawberry. But then his ears picked up the sounds of a small commotion somewhere behind him.

Years later, he would tell people, 'I really thought I was going to be caught right there and then. It was scary. I didn't know who they were at the time, of course, but after those wounds they'd already given me, I wasn't going to take any chances.'

The person he was telling his story to would wince sympathetically and ask, 'Well, what were they saying?'

Harry would chuckle. 'I still remember it now, even to this day. It went something along the lines of:

"He went right through the wall!"

"No, the wall opened up, you idiot!"

"What? No it didn't."

"Shut up and stop arguing. Did anyone see what was in there?"

"Knockturn Alley, sir."

"How do you know what Knockturn Alley looks like? Never mind, I don't want to know. Our tip was right, then. You, find a way to get in. You, help him. The rest of you, don't just stand there, think of something to do! I'm going to the Leaky Cauldron."

"Yes, sir."'

The person would commend Harry's storytelling skills and voice imitations, Harry would mumble something about them not being that good, really, they would both laugh at the Aurors' seeming stupidity, and they would both move on with their lives.

In the present, Harry would have liked to be doing exactly that, but he was too busy running out the creepy store and through the creepy street outside it.

'What's your hurry, sonny?' someone who looked exactly like a witch – crooked nose, frizzy hair, warts, the works – cackled as he sped past.

'Watch where you're going!'

'D'you want a fight? Huh? Do you? Do you?'

'Hey, you're getting blood all over the place! Stop it!'

Harry skidded around a corner and stopped, doubled over, using a wall for support, and out of breath. He looked up and his eyes widened.

He had run onto a street completely the opposite of – er, the creepy street: clean, crowded, well-lighted, and _not creepy_.

'Crazy kids,' a voice said. Harry looked at the speaker. It was an elderly man with a ring of white hair on his otherwise bald head. He was wearing what typical middle-class elderly men wear.

'Daring each other to go into the Knockturn Alley, eh?' the man continued. 'Crazy kids,' he repeated.

'Funny, though,' someone else piped up.

'Yeah.'

Harry blinked.

'Doesn't look like a kid though, does he?'

'Nah. Weird.'

'How old are you, kid?'

'Er…twentyish,' Harry said.

'Not a kid, then.'

'No.'

'No?'

'Er, no,' said Harry.

'Oi, you're bleeding!'

Harry looked down at his side. 'Oh, yes. Sorry.'

'What's to be sorry about? That looks nasty.'

'How'd you get it?'

'Er…'

'Here, you can borrow my handkerchief.'

'Oh no, I couldn't really…' said Harry, taken aback. After all, it was _hard_ to get blood out of a handkerchief.

'Hey, it's okay. You're getting blood all over the place, did you notice?'

'Er, yes. Thank you,' said Harry gratefully, taking the proffered handkerchief and applying it to the wound.

'Why do you keep saying 'er' all the time?' a young boy asked, gazing up at Harry with curiosity.

Harry looked down at him. '…Er. I don't know.'

'Jimmy! Honestly,' said a man who appeared to be his father, poking the boy and leading him away. Harry blinked at them as they walked off, the boy still looking back at him.

'Er,' said Harry (again). 'I don't suppose anyone would happen to have the date?'

'January third,' a random woman walking by informed him.

'2003,' her friend added helpfully.

'Actually, it's the fourth now,' the elderly man said. 'Past midnight. Crazy kid.'

'Thank you,' said Harry, and wiped the sweat off his forehead with the hand that wasn't pressing the borrowed handkerchief to his injury. He was still really hot from all that running.

W00T

(A/N: I like reviews. Why didn't any of you review the last chapter? That equals sadness. :(

If the last form review didn't help, then you can just type 'this was cool lol kthxbye' or something like that. That would be nice. Hey, it lets me know you liked it, and that's good enough for me. :D

Anyway, so please review. Seriously.)


	6. Chapter Five: If You Want to Live

_For disclaimer, see prologue._

Chapter Five: If You Want to Live

(A/N: Thank you to all you _reviewers_ out there, who managed to bring my average review count up to 4.8 reviews per chapter! (does happy dance)

Yes, I do calculate average reviews per chapter. Shut up.)

W00T

Last time…

'_Thank you,' said Harry, and wiped the sweat off his forehead with the hand that wasn't pressing the borrowed handkerchief to his injury. He was still really hot from all that running._

W00T

There was sudden dead silence on the street. Actually, more specifically, just from the small crowd that had gathered around him.

Harry checked under the handkerchief gingerly. To both his disgust and delight, he found that the blood had somewhat slowed (disgust, because the handkerchief was really quite bloody by now, and some of it had seeped through and now his hand was a bit bloody, too, and the delight is both self-explanatory and alliterative).

Figuring that he'd bloodied someone else's handkerchief enough, he peeled it away from his cut and looked up at the small crowd around him, who were all, for some reason, staring at him. And it wasn't the 'gosh are you okay that looks nasty here let me let you bloody my handkerchief' kind of stare; it wasn't even the 'crazy kid' kind of stare, or the 'stop getting blood all over the place, stupid' kind of stare. Harry couldn't quite classify it; he didn't seem to have ever experienced this kind of stare before.

SUDDENLY!

Half a dozen men dressed in dark blue robes burst onto the street from the end opposite the one Harry had come in from, breathing heavily and looking around for something. One of them spotted Harry, shouted, tugged on his partner's sleeve, and pointed.

Harry gulped. _Not good, I think._

The six men started running towards him like a herd of rampaging bulls, except not. People did shriek and dart out of their way as they approached though, yelling things like 'Just because you're the _government_ doesn't mean you own the place – ' and 'Watch it, _government_ people!' and various other insults, all somehow related to the government. Notice the subtle cutting off of the first mentioned insult, indicating either that the person got trampled or that they had yelled something UNMENTIONABLE.

Needless to say, this metaphorical herd of rampaging bulls was quite scary to Harry, especially when the blood from his injury was still fresh on his hand and someone else's handkerchief.

'Er, first one gets to keep it,' Harry said quickly, tossing the handkerchief into the air and running away from the Aurors. A single, solitary person, a young woman, shrieked and immediately snatched it, squealing and jumping up and down in delight as Harry ran like a madman.

As he sprinted, he heard a familiar child's voice from before say loudly, 'But Harry Potter's dead, dad!'

'_Honestly_, Jimmy! Don't you have any sense? Here, quickly, run after him and get his autograph!'

This exchange apparently shocked the rest of small crowd from before out of their stupor, and suddenly, the street was filled with frenzied screams to accompany the yelling. It was like a band called the Chalkboard Crew had suddenly showed up and turned their amplifiers on full blast.

_Bad analogy,_ Harry thought, and had to screech to a halt as he finally spotted four Aurors dashing in from the other end. Turning around frantically on the spot, trying to find a means of escape, he found none. On both ends of the street, Aurors were chasing him, two more were entering from where Harry had come in, and to make it even worse, now there was a small – oh wait, it was getting bigger – crowd screaming after him as well.

'Grarrh,' someone said. Harry jumped and looked down to where the voice had come from.

Jimmy giggled and held out a piece of parchment and a feather to him. 'Can I get your autograph, Mister Harry?'

'Er,' Harry replied eloquently, taking the…feather…and parchment. 'Is this a quill?'

'It's a Self-Inking Quill,' said the boy proudly.

'Okay, sure.' Harry quickly signed the parchment and handed it back to Jimmy, who grinned widely. 'Listen, you wouldn't know a way out of here, would you?'

Jimmy looked around. 'I'm sorry, Mister Harry,' he said solemnly. But his tone was belied by the skip in his step as he ran back to his father, waving the parchment in the air for him to see.

'This,' Harry said to himself as the crowd came trampling towards him, 'is not good.'

And then he was engulfed by what felt like a zillion people (Harry _used_ to like the number zillion), all screaming something about autographs and 'I touched him! I actually touched him!' and 'That's my handkerchief, you know!' and Harry even thought he heard a faint, 'He's so hot.'

'Out of my way! Auror coming through! Move it, kid!'

Harry could actually have collapsed in relief as six Aurors shoved their way through the crowd and stared down at Harry, who was lying on the ground. Hey, they'd got them off him.

One of the Aurors, a female with short blonde hair, choked when she saw him. 'Oh. Oh my, oh dear. Oh dear.'

The Aurors gaped at Harry, and he felt distinctly uncomfortable. And quite confused.

'We're so screwed.'

The other six Aurors arrived, jaws dropping when they saw Harry.

'_Harry Potter_?'

'Yes, it is!'

'We're so screwed.'

One of the Aurors whispered something into his partner's ear, and she nodded. 'Mr Potter,' she began, stepping forward, '_come with us if you want to live_.'

Harry blinked. That couldn't be right.

'…and then you will follow us there by Side-Along Apparation,' the Auror finished. 'Is that amenable to you, Mr Potter?'

'Er,' Harry replied eloquently, again. He must have imagined the first bit, then. 'Could you repeat that, please?'

'We're getting you out of here. Take my hand _if you want to live_,' said the Auror, holding out said hand.

Harry blinked and took it. Then he remembered something. 'Er, Miss,' he said, 'did you happen to see a dead guy when you came in, by any chance?'

She blinked. 'No, Mr Potter. By "dead guy", do you mean an urn of ashes, a coffin, or…?'

'Er,' said Harry, using her hand to help him get up and releasing it, 'no. 'By "dead guy", I mean…er…a zombie.'

She blinked again. 'No, Mr Potter. Have you perchance any prescribed medication on you?'

Harry sighed. 'No. I don't.'

'Grarrh,' someone said loudly.

Harry looked past the Auror and his eyes widened. 'There he is!'

The Auror whirled around and, seeing the zombie lurching over to them, said something (that shall not be repeated here) under her breath. 'Aurors, wands at the ready! Inferius coming in from Knockturn Alley!' she yelled.

There was mass panic on the street, and the small – getting larger – crowd, hearing the Auror, ran away, now screaming not in delight, but in panic. Shop owners immediately rushed back to their shops and locked their doors, watching fearfully from an upstairs window.

The twelve Aurors formed a small circle around Harry, sticks – wands? – at the ready. When the zombie – Inferius? – wow, Harry was learning a lot of new words today – got closer, they all yelled something definitely not English as one, and suddenly, there was a ring of fire around them.

Harry, standing on tiptoe to get a better view over someone's head, blinked.

The Auror checked her watch. 'On the count of three,' she said hurriedly, taking Harry's hand again. 'Everyone ready? One…two…_three_.'

Harry lost control of his lungs, as if he was being squeezed by a hydraulic press on all sides so hard he couldn't breathe, just as his brain cried, '_Sleep! I need sleep! Kthxbye, you're on your own_.'

That wasn't the last message his brain left him, though. No, his last thought before he collapsed was _Wow, this floor is cold._

W00T

(A/N: What? It seemed like a good place to end. So maaaybe the chapter's a bit short.

I have to think of something to write next, too, after all.

Because _someone_ didn't like my last form review, here's a new one:

'update soon lol funny chapter'

That's what most reviews consist of, anyway. 'Update soon'. Aren't I helpful?)


	7. Chapter Six: You're a Strange One

**FFSICR is undergoing heavy revision and plot editing. I had a very vague idea of where I was going with the story - vague as in 'Harry might meet Voldemort at some point' - and I wanted this to be a good, serious fic with a good plot and three-dimensional characters from me for once. I need to think more about it. I don't want to abandon it - I really liked my idea.  
**

**In the meantime, here is the original chapter six, original author's notes intact because I'm just lazy like that, I found on my computer for your...enjoyment.**

**Edit: No one ever seems to read properly. 'Update soon, update soon'. Yeah. Sure.**

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_Read the **BOLDED **author's note above BEFORE YOU DO ANYTHING ELSE or Zombie Guy will scoop out your innards with a melon baller._

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W00T

_For disclaimer, see prologue._

Chapter Six: You're a Strange One, Mr Nurse

(A/N: Average review count: 4.83.

If only I had got one more review. That number could have been 5…woe.)

W00T

Last time…

_Harry lost control of his lungs, as if he were being squeezed by a hydraulic press on all sides so hard he couldn't breathe, just as his brain cried,_ _'_Sleep! I need sleep! Kthxbye, you're on your own.'

_That wasn't the last message his brain left him, though. No, his last thought before he collapsed was _Wow, this floor is cold.

W00T

Unlike the way a normal person slowly came into consciousness, with hearing first and sight later, Harry's eyes snapped open. Quickly becoming aware of the fact that he was not in 'that street' anymore, he didn't know whether to be panicked or relaxed. On the one hand, there were no mobby mobs to mob him. On the other hand, he didn't have the slightest clue of where he was, and that made him just a tiiiny bit nervous.

Well, he was lying down again, that much he knew. Only this time it seemed to be on a bed, not a floor in a suspiciously clean alley.

Everything was fuzzy. Someone had taken off his glasses. Harry reached out with a hand and felt around, assuming there was a table next to the bed. Finding his glasses, he slid them on.

There was something cutting into his face. Not painfully, but enough to make him aware of it before anything else. Puzzled, Harry reached up a hand to take it off, knocking his glasses askew in the process. It was an oxygen mask, he realised, staring at it in confusion. For lack of anywhere else to put it, he removed the strap from behind his head and placed it next to him on the bed, straightening his glasses.

There was something cutting into his right wrist. Not painfully, but enough to make him aware of it before anything else (besides the oxygen mask). Puzzled, Harry raised said wrist in front of him and found that there was some kind of white strap around it, like a bracelet. There was no realisation of what it was, because he didn't _know_ what it was. He stared at it in confusion anyway, because there seemed to be a lot of cause for confusion today.

He looked to his right. There was a tall machine sitting there. Harry couldn't see the front of it, seeing as he was lying down in a bed, but he knew it was a beeping machine. Perhaps not a machine designed solely to beep, but that was a feature of it. Harry stared in confusion.

He wasn't dressed in his normal – clothes, if you could call them that. They had been long-sleeved, if a bit tattered. He was now dressed in, he assumed, a standard hospital-issue outfit. It was short-sleeved and green-and-white striped. _It must be cut out in the back,_ Harry figured. _That's what people always said hospital __pyjamas__ were like._ He made a face and wondered why the cost of half an outfit made that much difference. _Cheapskates._

Why was he in a hospital?

He lay there for a few more moments, trying to come up with various reasons to answer this question, when the green curtains surrounding his bed were flung open. Harry jerked his head around to look at who was intruding on his personal space. Then he realised that this was a hospital, and thus he _had_ no personal space to intrude upon.

The person who had not intruded on his personal space went over to the tall machine thing at his bedside without looking at him, knelt down on the floor, and started searching behind the machine with a hand. Harry stared.

The man seemed to have found what he was looking for, because he smiled, and he started tugging on something. Harry stared.

'Cease and desist!' Harry's curtains were flung open again. _Well, I know this is a hospital, but this is really pushing it,_ Harry thought, somewhat sulkily.

The man kneeling on the floor looked up. Eyes widening, he gave one last futile tug, realised it was futile, let go, sprinted to the window, opened it, and threw himself out. Harry stared.

'I say!' the second man who had not intruded on his personal space cried indignantly, running over to the window and looking out, as if to identify the non-intruder. 'Don't people have any respect for others' lives these days?'

'Er,' said Harry.

'We all have a right to live, you know!' the man continued passionately, shaking his first at someone on the street below. He sighed and turned to Harry. 'Oh, you're awake, Mr Potter!'

'Er,' said Harry.

'And how are we feeling today? No, no, don't get up,' he said hurrying over to stop Harry from getting up despite the fact that Harry had no intention of doing so in the first place. 'You've been sleeping for quite a long time, Mr Potter!'

'Er,' said Harry. 'So theoretically, shouldn't I be very well-rested right now?'

'That's why they call it a theory, Mr Potter!'

'Er,' said Harry, again. 'Who are you and what are you doing here?'

'Why, I'm your nurse, of course, Mr Potter! And before you say anything, I'm _not gay_,' he added sharply.

'Er,' said Harry.

'Mr Auror has been quite worried about you, Mr Potter,' said the male nurse, reverting back to his previous cheerful mood.

'…Mr Auror?'

'Your friend who brought you in, Mr Potter!'

'Er,' said Harry.

'Isn't that his name? That's what he told me. Granted, I've never heard of a name like that before, but…'

'…I suppose it is,' said Harry, slightly bewildered.

'Well, you seem to be fine now. Would you like for him to come in, Mr Potter?'

'Er,' said Harry. 'Okay.'

'I wonder why you keep saying "er" all the time?' the male nurse said cheerily before walking out, presumably to fetch 'Mr Auror'.

_He's a bit of an odd duck,_ Harry thought to himself. _…I wonder where that expression came from?_

A brisk voice shook him from his musings. 'Are you feeling better now, Mr Potter?' asked yet another man not intruding on his personal space, walking with a brisk stride to match his tone. He was dressed in rather odd attire: a formal suit jacket complete with a colourful rainbow tie, jeans, fuzzy slippers, and a straw hat to top off his ensemble.

'Er,' said Harry. 'Yes, thank you.' He paused delicately. 'May I ask why you are dressed in that manner?'

'Mr Auror' looked down at his clothing. 'Why, is it inappropriate? I was told…er, _people_ dressed in this manner. I was given some rather conflicting suggestions, and instead of choosing just one, I decided to mix them up, just to be safe.'

'I would question as to your definition of "safe",' said Harry wryly, wondering why the Auror needed people to tell him how to dress.

The Auror coughed. 'The…er, _doctors_ told me yours was a simple case of exhaustion due to lack of sleep. Have you not been sleeping well lately, Mr Potter?'

Harry stared.

'…Mr Potter?'

'You found me in an _alley_,' Harry began, slowly.

'…Yes?'

'You found me trying to _sleep_ in an alley,' Harry continued, equally slowly.

'…Yes,' said the Auror again, clearly wondering where Harry was going with this.

'You found me trying to sleep in alley, dressed in _rags_,' Harry continued, equally slowly. This description wasn't exactly flattering to him, but it was the truth.

'…'

Harry stared. The Auror stared back.

Deciding that now was not the time to begin a staring contest, Harry sighed. 'Okay, let me give you a really big hint. What do homeless people do and wear?'

'…Homeless people?'

Harry stared in disbelief. The Auror blinked at him.

'You know? People who don't have a proper place to live? And are forced to do so on the streets?'

'…'

Harry put his face in his hands. Just for effect, really, because it was hard to do that properly with glasses on.

W00T

(A/N: Reviews feed writers' hungry souls. Remember that, and you shall walk on an enlightened path. Don't you want to walk on an enlightened path?

And because I'm so nice, I shall help you walk on an enlightened path. All you have to do is answer this one simple question in a review: What did you like about the chapter, if at all? (Although, you know, to walk on an even more enlightened path, which is shorter, and therefore less time-wasting, you could add more detail in your review. What didn't you like about the chapter, why, and how do you think I could improve on that?

…Or anything, even. How was your day?)

Just six reviews on this chapter to bring the average review count up to five! _Just six_!)


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